


in my loudest tones

by Joana789



Series: tumblr fics [6]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, but is it really, im sorry lucas i swear i love you boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-09-29 19:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20441630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joana789/pseuds/Joana789
Summary: According to the multiverse theory, besides the universe where Lucas’s family stayed together or where his eyes are a different colour, there also must be a universe where, somehow, Eliott loves him back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my [tumblr](http://oheliotts.tumblr.com)  
title from "warning sign" by coldplay

Lucas has made a mistake.

When it comes down to it, the whole thing is pretty simple. Lucas tries not to pay it much attention. In his day to day life, there’s very little space for those kinds of things. See, Lucas is a science guy, not a feelings guy. He likes facts, and undeniable truths, something he can lean on, knowing that it’s not just his own heart messing with him.

But then, sometimes there’s this — Eliott will turn his head just right when they’re hanging out in the park with everyone else, and the sunlight will catch in his hair. They’ll catch a glimpse of each other in the hallway and he’ll smile at Lucas with this horrible, breathtaking smile of his like it’s nothing. He’ll draw something on a napkin while they’re waiting for their coffee orders at Starbucks, then give it to Lucas, just because.

And in those moments, Lucas always thinks — maybe his heart is playing tricks, after all. If the way it stutters and aches is anything to go by.

*

Lucas has made a mistake and here it is — a throwback to three months ago. Lucas is standing in Eliott’s living room, late at night after they’ve just finished watching some weird Spanish movie, with his hair in his eyes and his heart in his throat, and he’s saying, ”I’m in love with you.”

Eliott is wearing an old t-shirt that hangs loosely enough around his neck to show his collar bones, and his hair is messy from where he kept running his hands through it. His eyes are huge. For a second, he looks at Lucas like he doesn’t believe him, and then he looks like he _does_ believe him and something in his eyes lights up, burns like a flare and then dies down again. He’s turning to Lucas, in the next moment. Then, he’s saying, ”Listen, Lucas, I— I’m not—” and then, turning his eyes away, quieter, ”Please don’t do this.”

So. Fast forward to now — Lucas should have just stayed quiet.

*

”Hey,” Lucas hears from somewhere above him, ”I really like your jacket.”

When he lifts his head, there’s a guy standing by his table, with thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and a small smile on his lips. Lucas is about 70 percent sure he has seen him around the library before. They’ve caught each other’s eyes once or twice while sitting at neighbouring tables and run into one another by the lockers downstairs. If he remembers correctly, that is.

He says, kind of unsure, ”Oh. Thanks.”

”We’ve seen each other around before, right?” the guy voices Lucas’s thoughts, which, in turn, makes Lucas wonder, again, if they really had. Maybe the Glasses Guy had even introduced himself. Lucas can’t remember his name. ”I’ve been meaning to tell you, this jacket is so cool. And also your hair.”

Lucas is not sure what to say to that, so he just keeps smiling, a little plasticky. ”Thank you.”

”Would you mind if I joined you?” the Glasses Guy says, gesturing at the empty seat across from Lucas. 

”Uhm. I’m, actually. I’m kinda waiting for someone.”

There’s a beat of silence when they just keep looking at each other, Lucas having nothing else to add and the guy waiting for him to probably do so. 

”Oh,” he says after a few seconds, takes an awkward step back. ”I’ll leave you to it, then. Sorry.”

”See you around,” Lucas barely manages to get out, and then the guy is gone, just as quickly as he appeared in the first place. Lucas follows him with his eyes until he rounds the corner and disappears, then he lays his head on the table. It’s smooth under his cheek.

Then, a thumping noise startles him enough to sit back up.

Imane slides into the chair across from him, already busying herself with flipping through one of the approximately 50 books she brought with her, before saying, without lifting her gaze from the pages, ”You _do_ realise that he was flirting with you, right?”

Lucas plays with the corner of his notebook’s cover. ”Yes,” he mutters. ”But I’m—you know. I’m here with you.”

He looks up at Imane just in time to see her roll her eyes, exasperated. ”It has nothing to do with that. You could have at least asked for his number or something.”

”Maybe I didn’t want his number,” Lucas says, and it comes out a little defensive. His phone buzzes with a notification so he busies himself with that instead of looking at Imane’s questioning expression. ”Maybe I’m not interested.”

”Lucas,” Imane says, this time looking straight at him and he can feel the weight of her eyes somewhere on his face. He locks his phone, then unlocks it, locks it again, just to pretend to be doing something. ”It’s really not my business, but he was exactly the type of guys you usually go for.”

Yeah, Lucas thinks, puts his phone away, screen down. Tall and messy-haired and smiling at strangers. Lucas knows this, and Imane knows this just as well. When he looks at her, the disappointed lines of her face clear as day, he knows what she’ll say even before she says it.

”You have to try to move on,” Imane tells him. It sounds softer than what Lucas was expecting. Imane’s eyes are soft, too, like Lucas rarely gets to see, dim with something he doesn’t want to think too much about. 

Lucas thinks, _I know. I know._

It’s not like he hasn’t been trying. It’s not like he’s too stubborn to make this kind of effort. After Eliott turned him down, he hid away for a moment, turned off his phone and locked himself in his room until Manon and Mika almost drove him nuts with their constant knocking on the door and _are you feeling better_’s but right now, he’s all good. The past is the past. Lucas really tries his best to not think too much about how Eliott’s expression looked when he confessed, or how he could barely look Lucas in the eye at all, or how Lucas has spent the entire walk home stubbornly wiping his tears away that night, even though they just kept and kept coming.

Those are all his memories, his and no one else’s, but he doesn’t want them. Revisiting that would be like poking at a bruise — causing unnecessary pain. Not letting a wound heal fully like it should.

And that’s what Lucas has been doing. Healing. He just needs some time.

”I _have_ moved on,” he says stubbornly, not wanting to hear any more of Imane’s too-soft tone, then thinks, _I am moving on. I am_. ”Anyway, can we get started?”

He gestures to the books that Imane has brought. She shoots him another look, one that lasts a second too long, but then just nods without any further comments.

For the next two hours, they talk about something else.

*

On Saturday, the sweltering heat finally dies down to something resembling nice breezy summer. Lucas wakes up to sunlight filtering through the curtains and specks of dust swirling in the air where they’re visible in the light. He drags himself out to the kitchen, and it’s early enough for no-one else to be up yet, so he makes himself a coffee and a sandwich and takes the breakfast to the balcony, just because he feels like it. There’s a dog barking somewhere, and a few cars driving by. He can hear someone laughing, sharp and bright and quick.

Then, his phone buzzes with a text notification.

It is, because that’s just Lucas’s life, from Eliott. _hi_, it reads, _are you free tonight?_

Lucas is. He doesn’t want to say he’s always free for Eliott because he isn’t supposed to think that way anymore, but somewhere in the back of his head, it rings true whether he likes it or not. 

_sure_, he texts back. _want to hang out?_

Because, see — they’re still friends. They can still be friends. It’s what he told Eliott that awful night he confessed, after Eliott, beautiful and so, so gentle, turned him down, looking like he was about to cry himself. _I don’t want to ruin what we have_, Lucas had told him, sounding a little shaky, feeling a little like a child, silly and overdramatic and inexperienced. _I’ll get over this. I promise I will._

He can’t blame Eliott for not loving him back. Love is not something you can force yourself to feel. And Eliott never asked for any of this, never asked for any of those messy, overwhelming feelings that Lucas just couldn’t keep a hold on. There was never a reason for Lucas to count on anything, really.

As he finishes up his coffee, he looks over the railing of the balcony. There are two girls in the middle of the sidewalk downstairs, talking about something as they walk. One of them is gesturing animatedly, and the other nods from time to time, and then Lucas watches as she, unexpectedly, catches the other girl’s hand in hers and presses a quick kiss to her knuckles. Her expression is fond, then only grows fonder when the other girl’s face creases up in a smile.

Lucas turns his eyes away.

There is a theory he’s spent a lot of time reading about, a theory that he likes. It’s about alternate universes. According to the theory, there’s an infinite amount of worlds just like this one, somewhere out there, only slightly different. Lucas likes to imagine them, sometimes, because it makes him feel at peace — a world where he still lives in his old house. A world where his parents never split up in the first place. A world where everything is the same, except his eyes are green instead of blue. 

_i’ll pick you up at 9_, Eliott writes back, and then sends another message. It’s a heart.

Lucas stares at it until the screen of his phone goes dark.

_”You have to try to move on”_ is just a nice way of saying _”He’ll never love you back”_. Lucas knows this. That’s okay. It feels a little pathetic, this whole ordeal, but then again, it’s been almost exactly three months since he confessed. He’s had enough time to swallow the hurt down. Bury it somewhere where no-one else would see. 

According to the multiverse theory, besides the universe where Lucas’s family stayed together or where his eyes are a different colour, there also must be a universe where, somehow, Eliott loves him back. 

It’s not a bad thought. If some other Lucas managed to get everything that this Lucas doesn’t have, then, well. Good for him. It’s not like Lucas is unhappy. He’s okay.

Three months is enough to get over someone. 

*

A throwback again, to the same time and the same place: Lucas thought he had a chance. He thought there was something in the air that night that made things possible. He came over to Eliott’s just to hang out like they’ve done times and times before. Eliott let Lucas pick the movie, then promptly retracted the offer when Lucas said, ”Can we watch _Green Lantern_?” and they ended up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn in Lucas’s lap and Eliott’s head leaning against Lucas’s shoulder. Eliott was busy explaining the individual shots that he really liked. Lucas was busy making comments and stuffing his face with popcorn and looking at Eliott instead of the actual film. It was nice. They were comfortable and close and talking in hushes voices, leaning into their shared space. Lucas thought he had a chance.

He never did, apparently.

*

At 9, when Lucas gets downstairs, trying to put on a jacket and simultaneously stuff his keys into the back pocket of his jeans, Eliott is already there. The sun has just gone down, and in the thinning out light, he looks like someone out of a dream. Lucas smiles when Eliott turns his head at the sound of the front door of the building opening, then closing. 

”Hi,” Eliott says, already grinning as well, and pushes himself away from the wall he was leaning against, then stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket, like he’s shy. Something quivers in Lucas’s chest and he smothers it.

”Hi,” he answers, looking up at where Eliott’s still smiling at him. ”So, what’s the plan?”

Eliott shrugs, then raises an eyebrow with a glint in his eyes. ”Let’s see where the night takes us?”

And Lucas, laughing a little, says, ”Okay,” and falls into step next to him as they go, shoulder to shoulder, almost close enough to brush.

In reality, not much has changed. That’s something Lucas is really proud of, actually. Apart from the first few awkward days where they acted around each other like strangers and a few sad moments Lucas has to swallow down every now and again, it’s almost like nothing ever happened. They joke around, and Lucas shoves Eliott away when he starts to make fun of how Lucas should probably get a haircut but refuses to, and then they get on a bus and sit in the seats right next to each other, their heads bent together. The whole bus is empty. Lucas keeps stealing glances at where Eliott’s profile reflects in the glass of the window.

This is exactly what Lucas doesn’t want to ruin. This — Eliott being so laid-back and relaxed around him, laughing freely, bright. In moments like these, Lucas feels more himself than he does anywhere else. He can’t afford to lose it, everything they have, how well they work together, just because he’s looking for the sun at midnight, just because he was stupid enough to fall in love.

And at one point, when he asks about one of Eliott’s art projects, Eliott suddenly whips his head around, and, eyes huge, says, as if enlightened, ”Oh my God. I know where I’m gonna take you.”

”Oh, yeah?” Lucas says, and then lets his smile widen a fraction. ”Let me guess, is it McDonald’s?”

”Shut up,” Eliott mutters, his own smile widening, too. ”That was only _once_.”

Lucas laughs, then, and looks and looks, at the curve of Eliott’s smile and at the slight colour high in his cheeks, until they get to the next stop and Eliott drags him out of the bus.

*

They only talked about the confession once, during a party at Emma’s, at the very end of their awkward phase. Lucas came out there to finally head home after moping in the corner for hours on end and spoiling his friends’ moods. Eliott was simply already there. They ended up sitting on the pavement with the party music pouring from the speakers from behind the closed front door, huddled close. Lucas remembers feeling relieved at the proximity, and also like someone punched him in the gut. 

”Do you have any idea,” Eliott asked him then, quiet under the night sky, sitting so close that Lucas was half-afraid he might do something stupid, ”what it’s like to be told that by someone like you?” And then, shaking his head, quieter, ”I don’t deserve that at all, Lucas. Not from you. I wouldn’t be good for you, you— you’re just so—”

Lucas said, then, unsure of how to respond but desperately wishing for things to just fall into place again, ”It’s okay, Eliott,” even though it wasn’t, even though it was nowhere near as easy. He kept thinking, _why can’t you just tell me that you don’t feel the same?_

”It’s not okay,” Eliott told him then, looking a little broken and so, so sad. ”I just—I wish it was different.”

_Me, too_, Lucas thought but didn’t say it.

”We’ll figure it out, Eliott,” he only said instead, proud of how sure he sounded even when did not feel like it as he got up, because it was time to go home. And even if there was something in Eliott’s gaze when their eyes met, something heavy and dim and unsettled, Lucas decided to write it off as a trick of the light. ”We will.”

*

They end up, somehow, in an art gallery.

Or something of sorts, anyway. Lucas doesn’t know why it’s still open and running at 9:30 at night, but it’s nice, he guesses, or as nice as an art gallery can get, anyway. There aren’t many people here, and Eliott claims that the exhibition is something he’s seen before and liked very much, so Lucas lets himself be taken by the hand and lead inside and only complains a little bit, just for show.

Eliott’s hand is warm in his, and for a second, Lucas allows himself a bluff. A what-if. Between one breath and then next, he can pretend they’re something else. Then, he moves his hand away first and ignores the look Eliott sends his way.

He doesn’t know much about art, arguably. He was never good at it, because, again — he’s a science guy. And there are many paintings here that he doesn’t understand, full of sharp lines and patches of colour, but they’re pretty. He stops in front of a painting of the sunrise, soft and full of light, full of blues and pinks and muted oranges and stands and just looks until Eliott finds him.

”What do you think?” he asks, stopping just shy of Lucas’s shoulder. He sounds curious but also a little nervous. Lucas doesn’t really understand why, so he just brushes it off.

”It’s nice, I guess,” he says, still looking at the painting, but then shifts his eyes onto Eliott and discovers that his expression is just as bright as the landscape on the canvas in front of him. ”I don’t know why you chose an art gallery as a form of entertainment for me, though. I’m not really big on places like that.”

”I’m aware,” Eliott chuckles, but then, startlingly, ducks his head and shrugs like he always does when he’s shy. ”But the first time I saw it, I thought of you, and—I wanted to bring you here. To see it, too.”

And—oh.

Lucas kind of just…stops. At that.

Because, you see — he’s been trying his best. He’s been careful and withdrawn and afraid, just a little, of reminding Eliott of what he’d said, of how he feels, when Eliott made it so, so clear that he doesn’t want that. That he doesn’t want whatever Lucas has to give, whatever Lucas took and tried to push into his hands that night three months ago, all of his crushing, throbbing feelings, this whole mess. And he’s been doing well. Most of the time, it’s almost like nothing ever happened. Lucas is okay. Lucas has been making progress. 

But every once in a while Eliott does or says something — texts him a heart or takes him by the hand or says _”Do you have some time”_ or _”I saw it and thought of you”_, take him to look at art because it’s something he wants to share with Lucas and Lucas alone, and all the painstaking progress he has made goes teetering down, down and back to square one. 

Lucas doesn’t know how many times he’ll be able to take it. There is something lodged in his chest that suddenly makes breathing difficult. He thinks, _I’m so stupid. So, so dumb._

Something must show on his face, or maybe he’s been quiet for too long, or maybe Eliott just knows him too well, because he asks, rocking on his feet, his voice tentative, ”Do you like it? Here, I mean?”

_What does it matter to you_, Lucas thinks, but swallows the words down, because they wouldn’t be fair. Eliott cares, is all. He knows that. They’re friends.

”I like it, yeah,” he answers instead, then watches another smile break across Eliott’s face, impossible, prettier than all the art in the room.

Lucas thinks back to the balcony, to the girls he saw on the sidewalk in the morning, to fond smiles and kisses pressed to knuckles, to feeling like he was intruding on something he had no right to, and feels like Eliott and his smile and this whole goddamn scene is another thing like that. Something stolen that does not belong to him. Something that is not meant to be his at all.

”I’m glad,” Eliott tells him. His words sound nothing but sincere.

They move onto another painting.

*

But maybe the truth is this — Lucas is tired of feeling like him being in love has become something to be ashamed of. Before, he’d thought that now when Eliott knew, maybe the feeling of it all would lessen, would become less biting, simmer down to friendship again, but it didn’t. It’s still there, no matter what he does, whether he covers it up or screams it from the rooftops, and he’s tired of hiding something everyone knows about anyway.

It’s not fair, pretending he never confessed, when it took so much courage and strength and nerve. 

*

It’s not much of a revelation, really, but Lucas can’t help but feel very, very dumb. He meets up with Imane again and can barely look at her, keeps thinking, you were right, you were right as always. He goes to class, and to work, and spends the evenings lying on the couch, watching reruns of old TV shows with Mika and Lisa arguing over whose turn it is to choose the channel this time. It’s not bad. The acute awareness of _I’m still in love_ doesn’t change much. 

Except when Eliott texts him now, he barely even answers and doesn’t pick up when he calls and lies that he’s busy when Manon suggests that they all go out together. It’s awful, and it makes him feel guilty and like a failure, but he doesn’t know what else to do. It’s all he has left, he tells himself, because Eliott is not his to have. He’s been reading too much into his smiles, and his soft touch, and how bright his eyes get sometimes, into little drawings on coffee cups and text messages saying, _let me know when you get home safe_.

It’s just how Eliott is. And if Lucas can’t do anything about his stupid wishful thinking, if what Eliott can offer is not enough for him, then maybe it’s better if he doesn’t get anything at all.

It’s sad, in the beginning, but he likes to think he withdraws slowly. The unanswered texts pile up on his phone one by one, and Manon asks less and less about why he doesn’t hang out with them as much anymore, and once, when he sees Eliott in the hallway in-between his classes, he shoots him a smile and scrambles out of sight before anything else can happen.

He misses Eliott so goddamn much. It grows in his chest like vines, this ache, winds around everything else he feels and taints it. But Lucas only allows himself to feel it when it’s late into the night and the apartment is quiet and his thoughts have nowhere else to go. Because, again — Eliott is not his to have. Not his to miss. This is not a universe where they’re together.

He just needs to get it into his head.

*

And then, one night as he’s getting off his shift and closing up, stepping into the dark of the streets, Eliott is, for some reason, there.

He looks slightly unsure of himself, as if the sun, when it went down, took away the usual bright aura he radiates. His hands are in his pockets, and his hair is a mess. He’s chewing on his bottom lip and something flits across his face when he realises Lucas has spotted him, but then he comes up to where Lucas is standing with the keys still dangling from his hands, in big, quick strides like he’s afraid Lucas will run off, as if he has anywhere to go.

”Can we talk?” is the first thing Eliott says. 

So they talk.

It feels a little bit like the conversation they had after Lucas confessed, the one when Eliott had told him ”I wouldn’t be good for you”, the one when Lucas had said, ”We’ll figure it out,” only to fuck up everything even more in the end. They wander through the streets in silence at first, Lucas unsure of what exactly is happening and stupidly happy to see Eliott again, almost despite himself, all at the same time. He can’t help but steal glances at Eliott’s profile, coloured golden in the light of the street lamps. 

Then, Eliott says, ”So. You’ve been avoiding me.”

It’s not really a question. Lucas supposes that’s fair, since his behaviour left so little room for doubt. He holds the confirmation like breath in his lungs, then lets it out as a sigh. ”Sorry.”

If Eliott was expecting him to deny, it doesn’t show on his face. Lucas watches him lick his lips. ”Did I—” Eliott stutters. ”Did I do something? Did I say something stupid?”

Something unfurls in Lucas’s chest, then, the vines grow and grow and make it a little bit harder to breathe. 

None of this is Eliott’s fault. That’s what Lucas keeps thinking as they walk, as Eliott waits for an answer, as they keep looking at each other like that could serve as a reply instead. None of this is on Eliott. It’s all Lucas and his stupid, stupid heart, him looking for the sun at midnight, him reading too much into Eliott’s kindness, because he just never learns. That’s all.

”No,” he says, looks down on his feet, then up again. ”You didn’t do anything.”

”Then what’s wrong?” is what comes next. Lucas breathes in, breathes out. ”Are you alright?”

”Yeah,” he says. _I was just busy_, he wants to say, _with school and work, you know how it is_. But that would be a lie. He was never too busy for Eliott before. Maybe that was the very first mistake in all of this. ”I’m okay.”

”Then—” Eliott starts, quietly, and doesn’t finish. _Why_, is what he really wants to say; Lucas realises that but pretends that he doesn’t, only walks alongside Eliott and waits for him to speak again, looks at the pattern of light-dark-light as they pass the street lamps. Then, Eliott takes a breath, looks ahead. ”I know it’s not really my business,” he says, ”but—we’re okay, right? Because I feel like I did something. I just— I really miss you.”

And just like that, it’s too much. It’s too much.

Lucas says, ”I’m still in love with you.”

Eliott turns his head fast, surprised. He stops walking. Lucas slows down, too, stands centimetres from where another streetlamp is casting yellowish light on the nearby building. Eliott looks dumb-struck and a little scared, and Lucas looks at him and thinks that he has no right to, because it’s not like he didn’t know. It’s not like Lucas didn’t tell him.

And here they are again, a different time and a different place but the same two people and the same situation. Here he is, defeated and pathetic and like he’s stuck in some sort of fucking loop. It’s so unfair, he thinks, his chest suddenly too small for his heart, too tight for his lungs. So unfair.

”I know you don’t want to hear it,” he goes on when Eliott doesn’t say anything but just stands frozen still, his expression twisted into something Lucas is afraid to work through, ”and I’m sorry. I really tried to keep things how they used to be, but I can’t. I tried to stop—” A breath. Lucas feels shaky. ”I tried to stop feeling the way I do because I didn’t want to ruin anything, but I can’t. Not when you keep acting the way you do and keep saying all those things—”

”What things?”

Eliott sounds very small. Like he isn’t sure what to say but needs to say something anyway, like he’s scared. Lucas is scared, too, just a bit. All the words he says sound like coming from underwater.

”That you miss me,” he hears himself answer and only half-registers that it is really his own voice that’s sounding so strange. ”That you think of me. Everything, I don’t know.” His next breath sounds watery, and Lucas isn’t crying, but he’s almost there. He tries to push through it. ”It’s not like you don’t realise that, right? I know it’s easier to just pretend I never said anything, but the truth is that I did. We both know that. I don’t think it’s fair to pretend everything is still the same.”

Eliott casts his eyes down. It takes him a moment to say, ”No. It’s not fair.”

And Lucas, stupidly, because for just a second he can’t help it, thinks about some other universe, then, where a different Lucas and a different Eliott are happy. Where they kiss on street corners and hold hands as they walk down the sidewalks and where some other Lucas is allowed, impossibly, to lift some other Eliott’s hand to his lips and press a kiss there, too, or to his cheek, to the curve of his jaw. 

”I meant what I said about still being friends,” he says after a while, and it burns in his throat, but in this universe, it’s all he gets. ”It’s still important to me. I just need to work through it all, so that we can go back to how things really used to be, this time.“ He licks his lips. “I don’t want to ruin this any more than I already did.”

”Lucas, you didn’t—” Eliott sounds almost as bad as he does. Lucas doesn’t think about the reason. ”You didn’t ruin anything, listen, I—”

”I just need some more time,” he cuts in, because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle Eliott saying _”Please don’t do this”_ one more time, if that’s what Eliott wants to tell him. ”Some time and some space and I’ll really—try and just. You won’t have to listen to it again. I promise.”

Eliott is quiet, then. The vines in Lucas’s chest grow and grow until there’s no more room left.

”I’d take it back if I could,” Lucas says after a moment because it’s the truth, and it feels important, somehow, that Eliott knows. He’d take it all back. All of his scattered, burning, unwanted feelings and keep them away, safe and only for him to deal with. ”I would. But I can’t. I’m sorry that I need so much time.”

For a second, Eliott looks like he wants to say something, but whatever is it, it never leaves his mouth.

So in the end, Lucas only says, ”See you later,” and then goes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted on my [tumblr](http://oheliotts.tumblr.com)  


Here is another mistake Lucas makes — he goes on a date with the Glasses Guy. 

Or maybe it’s not quite a mistake. Just a change. It happens easily enough, quickly enough for him not to dwell on it. It’s a nice change of pace. Lucas tells himself that that’s what he needs — someone new to spend time with, someone new to like, someone different, someone else, anyone else. And if his heart’s not in it, maybe things will change with time. He needs a while, is all. It’s okay.

Lucas is not miserable, or anything. Not exactly. He’s just been better.

The Glasses Guy’s name is actually Marc. The next time their paths cross at the library, Lucas says, ”This seat is not taken” when he sees him looking hopefully in his direction, and the smile he sends him this time is amiable where it used to be artificial. So Marc comes over and they chat for an hour, surprisingly easy, and Lucas leaves the library that day with a new number typed into his contacts and a possibility of something new coursing through his veins. 

Marc is an astrophysics student and wears neon shirts that remind Lucas of highlighters, blue and green and orange, and he’s a little stiff and a little awkward, but Lucas writes that off as an initial shyness rather than anything else. Marc talks about his job at the science museum with an eerie sort of pride and his voice has a lilt to it that makes everything he says sound a little like a sing-song tune and he keeps complementing Lucas’s eyes and it’s…nice, Lucas guesses. It’s nothing like when Eliott does it — _ the prettiest blue I’ve ever seen, like Monet’s ”Water Lilies”, you know, _ he’d said once, and Lucas blushed furiously back then even though he’d never even seen the painting — but Marc is, Lucas quickly realises, apart from his warm smile and messy hair, nothing like Eliott at all.

Maybe that’s the point.

Lucas is honest with him from the start and tries to give him a chance. ”I’m just trying to get over someone,” he says at the end of their first date, does his best to keep the bitter feeling away from the words, because that’s only for him to deal with. ”Sorry. This whole thing might be a little slow.”

He doesn’t really expect it when the answer he gets is a crooked smile and a lazy-paced, ”Slow is alright.”

Because, see — Marc is nothing like Eliott, but maybe that’s not a bad thing. He is understanding and patient and kind, and Lucas thinks, at the end of their second, then their third date, that maybe he could learn to like him. Love him, one day. Maybe he could pluck the feelings for Eliott from his chest and plant them elsewhere, grow them into something different but still similar, something he wouldn’t have to hide. It would be nice, to not think about the sunlight in Eliott’s eyes and the warmth of Eliott’s smile and how he’d said,_ I wouldn’t be good for you, _instead of _I don’t love you, _like he should have. 

And even when they kiss at the end of date three and there are no fireworks, no rush down his spine and no thrill, Lucas thinks, keeping his eyes closed, that it’s okay. He can work with that.

*

They are in a coffee shop on their fourth date, holding hands over the table and talking about how the barista messed up Marc’s order when Lucas hears from behind, ”Oh. Hi.”

And there it is. It’s a little ridiculous, really, how something in his chest curls into itself as he turns, but ridiculous seems to be one of his main traits, these days. Lucas knows this voice. Knows this person, and knows how the last time they’ve seen each other, he spit everything he felt out onto a dark street corner and then hauled up and left. It’s like watching a car crash, the rush-like feeling suddenly there in his mind, except he is in the car, too, and can’t stop it.

He thinks,with no real reason behind it, _ fast forward to now, fast forward, fast forward_. 

It’s Eliott, because of course it is. He looks exactly like he always does, tall and relaxed and in another one of his weirdly patterned shirt, white and grey mixing. His hair is in his eyes. There is nothing about him, really, that should make Lucas’s throat close or his head spin, but it all happens anyway, in smooth sequence, one, two, three. Rinse and repeat. 

They haven’t talked at all, ever since Lucas left him standing on the sidewalk that night. There were no calls, no texts, no unexpected visits. Lucas was grateful for that, for a while, because isn’t that what he asked for, from Eliott — space, and time, and a chance to reinvent himself, become someone with less to give so that he could come back and, in a weird twist of reality, give Eliott exactly what he wanted? 

And if he’s missed Eliott all this time, so fucking much, then that’s on him. If he thought about the art Eliott had shown him, the feeling of his hand in his own, about alternate universes and better endings and about a different Lucas and a different Eliott, together, somewhere, then that’s on him only. 

”Hi,” he says.

Eliott is looking at him. His eyes flit all over Lucas’s face like he can’t decide where to look at all, or like there’s too much to look at and too little time. Lucas watches as a hesitant smile blooms on Eliott’s face, corners of his mouth lifting just so, timid in a way Lucas isn’t used to seeing. 

”How are you?” Eliott says, and the sound of his voice matches the smile, coy. Hopeful, maybe. Lucas can’t decide.

Something is starting to take roots in his chest again, right there behind his sternum. He knew it would happen the moment he saw Eliott again, but there he is anyway, stupidly surprised at the feeling, like a child that forgot about their own birthday with a gift being pushed into their hands, and just a little dazed at the sight of Eliott right here in front of him, and happy and worried and unsure all at once. It’s all there.

But he tries to swallow it down.

”I’m okay.” It comes out a little stiff, more than he intended, but once the words are out there, there’s not much he can do. He takes a breath. ”And you?”

For a second, Eliott looks like he’s expecting something more. He’d get it, too, if it was a different time and a different place. Lucas would start to complain about his lukewarm coffee, maybe, or say, _come on, sit down_, and launch into a story about something irrelevant, and Eliott would listen, amused, draw something on a napkin for him, or on his coffee cup, a silly little thing Lucas would spend the rest of the day thinking about, wondering if it meant something more than it really did. 

But that’s—not them anymore. That’s not them_ yet _ . Lucas can’t afford to let the lines get blurred again. He thinks, despite himself, anew, _I’m sorry _. 

”Yeah, I’m—” is what Eliott says after a moment of pause, ”Yeah, me too,” and then his eyes shift to somewhere beside Lucas. To Marc.

Oh.

Lucas blinks a few times. The world starts spinning again.

”Who’s your friend here?” Eliott asks and redirects his smile as it turns from timid into merely polite. Marc smiles back at him in the same manner and Lucas watches it happen with a weird notion in his gut, feeling like a character in one of those cliché romantic comedies Mika likes so much. And because he’s watching Eliott’s face, he catches the exact moment his eyes slide from Marc’s face down to his and Lucas’s hands still clasped together, to their intertwined fingers and the touch that’s still new but growing comfortable. 

Something flickers in Eliott’s eyes. Lucas fights the sudden urge to move his hand away from Marc’s but only loosens his hold in the end.

”Marc,” Marc introduces himself before Lucas can. It’s friendly, but then Eliott is suddenly flitting his gaze from Marc to Lucas and then back and his smile gets a little weaker, grows a little stiff around the edges as if someone just pinned it in place to keep it there.

The thing is — Eliott is not stupid. It is a clear message. Lucas keeps looking at him and keeps thinking,_ this is me moving on, this is me doing what I promised I’d do. _He doesn’t know, really, why Eliott’s relaxed posture suddenly turns into closed angles and tight shoulders, even if it’s subtle enough of a change for no-one else to notice, probably. Lucas sees anyway, like he sees everything about Eliott, all the time. It’s just what he does. 

”Nice to meet you,” Marc provides after a few seconds of suddenly weird silence. Eliott’s gaze catches on his face and stays there. There’s something in it that Lucas isn’t sure about, like when clouds gather in the sky and you can’t tell if it’s going to rain or not, even when the world gets darker and darker. 

But everything Eliott says is, ”Yeah. You too.”

”Marc, this is Eliott,” Lucas cuts in, and it makes Eliott look at him again. Lucas holds his gaze. ”He’s an old friend.”

He wants to backtrack, for a second. Wants to say,_ he’s more than that, _because it’s the truth and that’s what Eliott seems to be pointing at with way he holds himself, unsure but wind up, with a strange tightness of his jaw and piercing gaze. Eliott is more than that, so, so much more, but he is also less, at the same time. It’s what Lucas gets, he guesses, after being so greedy before, after overshooting the mark, hoping to get something that was never his to take. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Marc shift a little awkwardly in his chair. The sudden tension that Eliott brought with him is, he guesses, impossible to miss. ”Cool,” Marc says, a feeble attempt at remaining casual. Lucas untangles their fingers, tells himself that it’s because his hand is getting stiff. ”How long have you known each other?”

”Oh,” Eliott says at that before Lucas can answer, and then his smile flickers like candlelight and turns into something else. Something wistful, for a nick of time, but then Lucas blinks and the thing’s gone from Eliott’s expression, whatever it was, as quick to vanish as it was to appear. ”We sure do have some history.”

It’s neither here nor there. Lucas’s chest tightens, minutely, and he just keeps looking and looking at Eliott’s expression, strange like a puzzle game that’s missing a piece, and Eliott keeps looking back. 

Then, he says, ”I should go.”

Lucas feels his eyes on him as he moves his hand farther away from Marc’s, puts it in his lap. It’s not an admission, but it feels like it, in a way. ”Yeah,” he says, and that feels like a confession, too. He swallows. ”You probably should.”

So Eliott goes. Lucas looks at his back until he pushes the door of the coffee shop open and then closed, gets out of sight.

He only turns his eyes away when Marc says, suddenly, quieter than he usually is, ”So. Is he the one…you’re getting over?”

It’s not what Lucas expects to hear, but he doesn’t ask how he knew. It wasn’t that hard to figure out, maybe, with the way Lucas only had eyes for Eliott the second he noticed him, like a fucking idiot. Not hard to figure out when Eliott kept looking like that and smiling like that and being how he always is.

”Yeah,” he admits on a sigh. He’s been honest from the start, after all. For a change. ”I’m sorry, that— that was weird.”

Marc is quiet for a while, after that. His eyes are cast down. He’s curled his fingers into a loose fist, and Lucas thinks about taking his hand back in his own but doesn’t do it. He doesn’t think about a reason, even when Marc finally lifts his gaze and meets eyes with Lucas.

”I think…he might still be in love with you.”

And Lucas—stares.

It’s like a punch to the stomach, a little, and a lot like a very weird misunderstanding. He’s aware of the seconds passing by, and of the sounds of the coffee shop rush hour still there in the background, but he can’t—make a noise, suddenly. He feels like he has a punctured lung, with how difficult it is to take a breath. 

”No, you—” he hears himself say eventually, ”you’ve got it wrong, he never—”

Marc shrugs.

”I’m just saying what I saw,” he mutters, and then turns his eyes away again.

*

Later at night, after Lucas turns the lights in his room off, after Mika shouts a _ ”goodnight”_ from his own bedroom for everyone else to hear, after the world gets darker and softer and a little less real, Lucas gets into bed and closes his eyes and doesn’t sleep for a long time.

He and Marc parted ways on a kind of awkward note, and Lucas’s phone has been silent ever since. It’s not like he’s expecting anything, really. Not after what happened, and not after what Marc told him, in a quiet voice and a little like a question Lucas would rather not answer just yet. But he stares at the phone anyway, a dark shape on his nightstand, right next to the lamp. If he tried hard enough, or waited a few minutes longer for his eyes to adjust, he could probably make out the sticker of a tiny hedgehog on his phone case, right there in the left corner, a little faded and worn out but here all the same.

He got it from Eliott. It was such a long time ago that he doesn’t even remember why Eliott gave it to him in the first place, but maybe there was no occasion at all. Eliott is like that, he thinks. It’s just him. 

”It reminded me of you,” Eliott told him, back then, trying to wink at him and failing, and Lucas remembers his heart doing something weird, remembers trying to cover it up with mock-offence and pretend. 

”I told you it’s not my fault I’m shorter than you,” he’d said, flipping Eliott off, which only made Eliott laugh. He’d taken the phone from Lucas’s hands, grinning wide, their fingers brushing, and he was probably completely unaware of how Lucas’s chest was suddenly too tight for his heart, how he had to fight another stupid blush from creeping onto his face.

”That’s not what I mean,” Eliott told him, inspecting the phone case as if a generic all-black plastic it was made of was somehow interesting for him. ”It’s because you’re very defensive and don’t let people get close easily, but you’re also very cute once you finally let someone in. You know?” and then, before Lucas’s overworked heart could decide on a response and his dazzled mind could come up with something to say, Eliott had already stuck the sticker onto his phone and was pushing the device back into Lucas’s loose grip, and then he was smiling at him again, saying, ”There you go, Lu.”

And as Lucas lies there in the dark, staring at his silent phone, his heart suddenly heavy at 1 in the morning, he thinks,_ fuck Eliott_. Fuck him. Fuck him for being so unfair, for doing things he never had any right to do, for being so sweet and so nice and so kind through and through, with his smiles and his gifts and his attention. 

Lucas thinks about picking his phone up from the nightstand and calling Marc. About telling him,_ I wanted to hear your voice_, or _sorry about today_, or anything, really, just for the sake of it. He thinks he should — they are almost official, after all, four dates and a few perfectly nice kisses in, holding hands in coffee shops, sitting next to each other close enough for their knees to brush.

And then he thinks about how Eliott looked at him earlier, about his shy smile and hopeful gaze and how the world faded around the edges, the second their eyes met.

Love is not a decision. He knows that. But other things are, maybe.

Lucas doesn’t call.

*

Another throwback, just because — the night they talked about the confession, after Eliott said, _”Do you know what it’s like to be told that by someone like you?” _ and after Lucas made up his mind and got up from the ground to finally go home, after he’d said, _”We’ll figure it out,”_ Eliott said one more thing.

”It’s a goddamn honour, Lucas,” he’d told him. In the night air, the words sounded very raw. Lucas had turned to him, then, feeling a little dizzy and very tired and sad, overall, but still covering it up. The trick of the light in Eliott’s eyes settled, then solidified. ”To be loved by you. _You_, of all people.”

*

His fifth date with Marc begins with an awkward kiss on the cheek and ends with a break-up. 

It’s very simple, really. In the end, there’s not much to say.

”I think your heart is not in it,” Marc tells him, looking a little defeated and a little disappointed, but not too hurt. That, at least, is a good thing. ”I think your heart is somewhere else.”

And what is Lucas supposed to say to that, exactly?

So they just…part ways. The ending comes like the beginning came, not anticipated but still there, and Lucas finds himself not feeling much at all, then. It’s awful of him, maybe. Probably, even. Maybe he should have tried harder, or should have been more stubborn, maybe he should have said, _my heart is right there, what do you mean?_ and fight.

But the truth is — Lucas is tired of fighting. Tired of fighting himself, and Eliott, and everyone around, of fighting Imane’s soft glances and Basile’s unsubtle remarks and Yann’s too-kind questions and there is not much strength in him, really, there’s never been, despite what everyone else always thinks. So he doesn’t fight. Sometimes, that’s just how it is.

”I’m sorry,” he only says, at the end of it all, and if Marc was hoping for a different answer, it doesn’t show on his face. ”I’m a mess.”

Marc sighs, but then he’s shrugging, aiming for nonchalance, and Lucas takes it as such with a small flicker of relief behind his sternum.

”That’s okay, I guess,” Marc tells him, in his highlighter-like t-shirt and with his round glasses and dark brown eyes. ”Aren’t we all?”

*

The rest goes like this — he doesn’t know how the hell the boys find out that he’s freshly broken up with, but somehow they do, and they keep harassing him in the group chat to come over to Yann’s on Friday to _”drink the sadness away”_. In all honesty, Lucas is not really sad. But maybe he is a little weary, and a little sick of going back and forth between what he’s feeling and who he’s feeling it for, and a little tired.

So he goes.

Yann’s apartment, when he gets there, is already full of people he’s never met before and loud music and booze, whiskey and vodka and beer, mostly the cheap, nasty kind, but Lucas barely drinks anything anyway. Arthur and Basile are having a karaoke battle in the corner of the living room, and it’s horrifying. At one point, he spots Emma and Daphné dancing together. It is almost fun, he thinks as he pushes past people to get to the kitchen, his red solo cup empty but his mind still clear. It’s not bad.

Eliott is here, too. It is, Lucas guesses, nobody’s fault. He spots him on the way, near the balcony, where he is talking to Idriss and Sofiane and a couple of other people Lucas doesn’t know, and again — Lucas is tired. Exhausted, just a little bit.

That’s why he allows himself a second of leeway, then. He leans against the doorframe and looks, for a moment, again, at the contour of Eliott’s profile, at how his shirt is loose on his shoulders, and catches the exact moment Eliott throws his head back and laughs at something, free and pretty, with his hair sticking to his forehead and his skin glistening in the lights.

Lucas turns his head away.

There is something, he thinks in the back of his head as he steps into the kitchen where it is less crowded and less suffocating, about standing in a room full of people and only really looking at one person.

*

He stays in the kitchen for a while. People keep coming and going, vanishing into the crowd like it’s an ocean, and Lucas watches it all from where he’s perched on the kitchen counter right next to the sink. He pours tap water into his slightly mistreated plastic cup and just sits and listens to bits of conversations as people pass him by, watches as the night gets darker and darker outside the window.

He doesn’t know how Eliott finds him, but it happens.

If it was in a different time, he would have thought that it’s a sign, maybe. See, Lucas used to read into it a lot, and build his high hopes on it — on how he and Eliott always seemed to gravitate towards each other, about how often they ended up huddled somewhere together, about how easy it’s always been to find Eliott in a crowd. Lucas has spent countless parties watching how Eliott turned people’s heads, how they followed him with their eyes, and used to flush happily at the fact that he was the one Eliott always sought out in the end. But it never meant anything. Still doesn’t. 

That’s fine.

But Eliott finds him, anyway. Something passes over his face when he notices him, but it is quick to vanish, and then he’s walking over to where Lucas is sitting. Lucas tries to ignore the way his throat tightens a little at that and braces himself, on autopilot, for a confrontation, because that’s all they’ve been doing, lately, as much as he wished things were different.

But it doesn’t happen.

Eliott only fills a glass with water from the tap, instead, keeps his eyes on it and doesn’t say a word. Lucas just sits there next to him and barely moves himself. The noises of the party and other people’s chatter fade away into the background, somewhere far, mix with the clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter. Lucas thinks,_ I’d leave, if I were drunk_, but he isn’t. So he doesn’t go.

He notices, almost involuntarily, that Eliott must be a little nervous if the way he fiddles with the tap is anything to go by.

”So, uhm,” is the first thing Eliott says to him after a drawn-out moment, after he’d filled his glass to the brim and put it on the counter and didn’t drink a drop from it, ”where’s your guy?”

For a second, Lucas doesn’t know what to say. Eliott sounds like Lucas is feeling — unsure and weird and muted, kind of, too quiet for the setting they’re in. Lucas isn’t used to that, from Eliott. It makes something in his chest stir.

He decides to go with, ”Not here.”

It’s a little too curt and Eliott flinches just slightly, then fiddles with his glass. He says, ”Oh. Okay.”

They’re quiet for a moment again. There are shouts coming from the direction of the living room, then someone turns the music down a bit, but Eliott doesn’t turn to check what’s happening, so Lucas doesn’t either. They stay as they are — close but also miles apart, hesitant, hovering. In another universe, it crosses his mind, maybe that’s how they met — at a party, in Yann’s kitchen, talking about something silly right there by the sink, without the mess of Lucas’s bundled up feelings to fuck it up even before it started. 

Lucas takes a breath, tries to push whatever it is in his chest down and away before saying, softer this time, ”We’re not together. Anymore.”

Eliott turns his head at that, sharp, surprised. It’s the first time tonight that he looks Lucas right in the face and his eyes are huge, coloured dark with the scant light in the room. He looks like he’s waiting for Lucas to continue, maybe, just for a second, but Lucas doesn’t really have anything else to give, so he just shrugs. It feels like a capitulation of sorts. Like armistice.

Eliott asks, eventually, with something in his voice, ”Why?”

_ You know why_, Lucas thinks. _You know. _

But he doesn’t say it. 

He just shrugs again, helpless. It is how it is. There is nothing to explain, really, because he’s tried that already and failed, time and time again. It must show on his face, or Eliott is just looking for it, because when Lucas doesn’t say anything, he tells him, ”I’m sorry to hear that.”

_ Are you_, is what Lucas wants to say at first, but it wouldn’t be fair, because Eliott sounds like he always does, infuriatingly kind. _Don’t be_ wouldn’t be right also. He chews through all the words on his tongue and chooses carefully in the end, puts every ounce of lightness he has left in him when he says, ”I don’t think I need your drunk apologies, Eliott.”

Eliott clicks his tongue. ”I’m not drunk,” he says, and yeah, Lucas knew that already. They’re probably the only sober people at the party. And then Eliott says, ”Even though I don’t think he was right for you, I’m still sorry.”

And that—that’s not fair. That’s not fair.

The thing behind Lucas’s sternum grows, suddenly, makes it difficult to breathe. His chest is too tight for his heart. He grips the counter with such force that it digs into his palms and then he holds on, holds on.

He says, ”I don’t need your approval, either, you know.”

Eliott straightens up at that. Like this, Lucas sitting on the counter, they’re almost the same height. At least that, Lucas guesses, is fair when not much else isn’t, because here they are again, almost-arguing, even when he wished and hoped for it not to happen anyway. He thinks, _how many more times. _

”I know that,” Eliott is saying in the next moment, like an apology, but Lucas doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want another _ "I’m sorry"_ and _"Don’t do this"_. He doesn’t want that. Eliott can take it all back. ”I just meant—”

”I don’t care what you meant,” he cuts in. The counter is solid under his hands. ”I don’t care, Eliott. Do you really think I want your opinion on this?” And then, ”Am I supposed to be unrequitedly in love with you forever? Is that what you want?”

Eliott deflates, then. His facade drops steadily, just a little, and for once he isn’t smiling, and Lucas doesn’t know if it’s for better or worse. Eliott’s smile is the thing he loves the most, really, but recently, even the thought of it has only made him want to cry. 

”No, that’s not what I want,” Eliott says finally. His eyes are gentle. He is looking right at Lucas, and Lucas thinks that it is, somehow, very brave. ”I want you to be happy. That’s all. It’s all I want.” And then, when Lucas doesn’t say anything to that, Eliott asks, quietly, ”Aren’t you going to ask why?”

Lucas wants to. He really does. But he is scared of questions, at this point, and of answers he hoped for that never came, of getting his heart broken again and again, of breaking it all by himself with how naive and stupid it is. He is angry at Eliott and mad at himself and why, why did Eliott even come here in the first place?

That’s why he says, ”I don’t think I want to know anymore,” and then, not giving Eliott the time to make him question this decision as well, Lucas adds, ”Please, can you just— can you just go?”

Eliott does, even though his eyes look sad.

It is another thing Lucas loves him for.

*

And then, later, as he’s stumbling home at 2 in the morning, he gets a text.

_ i’m at your apartment building_, Lucas reads, squinting, _i really need to talk to you. _

And then, ten seconds after that, as if hesitating, Eliott sends, _please _. 

*

”Hi,” is what Eliott says when Lucas gets there ten minutes later, already weirdly uneasy. ”Um— you haven’t answered my text?"

Lucas hasn’t. He doesn’t know what he was supposed to write anyway, because ”_ of course” _was too vulnerable and _”i don’t want to see you" _was not true, not entirely. So he just came, instead. He doesn’t know how long Eliott has been standing here on the street already, but he looks like he’s been here for a while — his hair is windswept and he’s kind of hunched, hands in his pockets, and he’s looking at Lucas through the dark. For a moment, Lucas just kind of looks back at him.

”What are you doing here?” he says at last. It comes out a little rough.

”I have— something to say,” Eliott says, then licks his lips a little like he does when he’s unsure of something. ”I wanted to talk.”

_ About what_, Lucas wants to ask at first, but it would be a little rude. _Talk, then _ would, too. He’s not sure if he’s ready to listen to whatever it is that Eliott has to say to him, but then again, maybe the sooner he deals with it, the better. Eliott’s listened to him, after all, the first time around, then the second. How much worse can it get, right.

”Let’s go inside, then.”

”Actually, I would — can we talk here?”

Lucas frowns. It’s almost completely dark here, outside, and kind of creepy with the only source of light being a streetlamp, and even though the day was warm, the night really isn't. ”Why?”

Eliott sends him a strange half-smile. ”If we’re in public, you’re less likely to punch me when I’m done talking.”

In public, he says, even though there’s hardly anyone around. Lucas is not sure if it’s a bad joke to ease the weird tension between them or just Eliott being himself. It’s hard to tell, sometimes. ”Are you serious?”

In response, Eliott runs a hand through his hair. Lucas doesn’t think he’s aware of the gesture. ”Yeah? I don’t know. I’m kind of nervous.”

”Eliott, what is this about?”

Eliott looks up at him from where he’s been staring at the ground. He’s biting at his lip again. But there’s a firm set to his jaw, now, and something unyielding about the way he holds himself. His eyes lock with Lucas’s and then stay.

”Lucas, listen, I—” he starts, but then shakes his head, as if correcting himself. ”I’m gonna start at the beginning. This is going to be a mess, I’m sorry.”

_ What is going to be a mess_, Lucas wants to ask, here in front of his apartment building, standing in the darkness, feeling a little unsettled, but then Eliott breathes in and starts talking.

”When you confessed, months ago,” he starts, and Lucas's heart aches a little at the memory, still, ”I— didn’t see that coming at all. Looking back at it now, maybe I should have. Maybe a smarter person would have seen it. But I didn’t at the time, and I was— I was very blindsided. I panicked. I panicked and I turned you down because I didn’t want everything to change between us so suddenly, you know — which was fucking stupid, because I should have known it would change anyway.”

Lucas opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Eliott looks down again, swallows, and then goes on.

”I told myself I wasn’t the right person for you, and I still kind of think that. You deserve someone brave, Lucas, and good and kind, and I’m not—there are so many things that are wrong with me. There’s so much.” A breath, a pause. ”And I was a coward, I was scared of talking to you at first, and then I was scared of what I was feeling, and you were so sad. You were— so sad, _I _made you so sad, but you were trying to make your peace, you were trying so hard, and I thought — if I were right for you, I would have never made you go through such a thing. But I’m selfish, and I’m a shitty person, so I did. I thought—”

Eliott still isn’t looking at him. Lucas can feel his heart in his throat, his pulse hammering in his head. It’s not that cold, really, but he feels like he’s freezing. It’s—

And Eliott’s saying, ”I thought I could fix it, you know. On my own terms, because that’s how I am, trying to cover my own ass when I’m not even the one hurt. I thought I had time, that I could show you slowly, find a way to make you see that I—yeah. Take you out somewhere, show you some paintings, or maybe invite you over, or say that I miss you and that you’re important to me, all those things. Those are all true,” he says, ”but aren’t the things I should be telling you.”

Lucas’s lungs feel too small, all of a sudden. ”Eliott,” he manages at last. He doesn’t know what’s happening. ”What—”

”And then you were suddenly moving on, already with someone else, and I saw you and just—” Eliott shakes his head like he’s frustrated with himself." I was running out of time, but it would be so unfair to take all the effort you put into rebuilding our friendship and just throw it out the window—”

Lucas more feels than hears himself speak. ”Eliott,” he says, feeling kind of numb. ”What are you—”

”I know those are all shitty excuses,” Eliott cuts him off. Lucas can’t remember the last time he's seen him struggle with words so much. ”And I’m really sorry. But I don’t have any better ones." He breathes in, breathes out. "I was scared and confused and selfish and I’m so sorry, Lu.” And then, outside of Lucas’s apartment building, in the dark, Eliott tells him, lifting his head up, ”I’m in love with you. I have been in love with you for a while, but I’m scared that I’m too late, now.” And then, quieter, ”Please tell me if I’m too late.”

And Lucas is— quiet. Very still. For what feels like a very long moment.

This is what it feels like when streams freeze over in the winter, he thinks numbly. His heart is beating so fast, but it feels like there’s no oxygen in his brain. He keeps looking at Eliott and keeps repeating his words in his head, but they barely make any sense. They barely make sense.

”Why didn’t you say anything,” is the first thing that finally comes to him, so that’s what he says. Lucas feels, for the second time tonight, a lot like someone just socked him in the face. The words feel foreign in his mouth, like he’s speaking some made-up language. ”Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Eliott winces, kind of.

”What was I supposed to say, Lucas?” he asks, and he sounds weird. Breathless, like he never does. He sounds like Lucas feels. ”When you were sitting there with a different guy, looking more at peace than I’ve seen you look in months? More _ yourself _ than I’ve seen you look in a while?" A sigh. ”There’s no good way to bring something like that up, and you didn’t talk to me at all and…” When Lucas looks at him again, he’s looking back. ”I don’t blame you. I don’t. I understand — you were so brave, and all I had to do was say like, two words, and I didn’t even manage that because I was scared. That’s not okay.”

”No,” Lucas says, still dazed. ”No, that’s not okay.”

”Yeah,” Eliott says, smiling a little now, but it’s not a happy smile. It’s self-deprecating, tilted, heartbreaking, just a little. Lucas wants to wipe it off of his face. ”If I’m too late, I understand. If you don’t— want this, anymore.”

And Lucas thinks, _God, dear God, _and, dazed and with his heart in his throat, with the rush of blood in his head, he takes two steps and kisses him.

It’s a little graceless at first. Eliott’s breath catches when their lips meet, and Lucas’s whole body still feels kind of numb. His own pulse is everything he can hear. But then Eliott cups his face, thumb stroking his cheekbone, and Lucas tilts his head and their lips slide together and they’re kissing. They’re kissing. He grips Eliott’s jacket, Eliott lets him press closer and they’re kissing, sweet and dizzying and warm and Lucas just lets it happen. Lets Eliott kiss him and lets himself kiss back, again and again until time goes a little wobbly. Until he runs out of breath.

”You’re such an asshole,” is the first thing Lucas says when they part, words shaky. He grips Eliott’s jacket tighter. ”You’re the biggest fucking idiot I’ve ever met.”

He can feel the warmth of Eliott’s breaths on his skin.

”I know,” Eliott says, a low sound. He is holding himself very still. ”I’m the biggest idiot I’ve ever met, too.”

And Lucas leans in again and kisses him, feeling angry and relieved and nervous and happy and a little like he’s dreaming, too. All those things, all at once. It blooms in his chest like a garden, and he is full of it.

Eliott keeps kissing back. He keeps kissing back as Lucas moves his hands from the front of Eliott’s jacket to his shoulders, keeps kissing back as Lucas deepens the kiss and as Lucas’s breath catches. Eliott kisses his bottom lip, his top lip, holds Lucas’s face in his hands and the touch is so gentle it’s almost cautious and they keep kissing. Lucas shivers, doesn’t know if it’s from the chilly wind or from something else entirely.

Then someone across the street cheers loudly, screams what sounds like a tipsy ”Go get some!” and Lucas can’t help the grin that breaks out at that, spills all over his features, feeling so dumb and so young and jittery. Eliott kisses the corner of his mouth, once, twice, again. His lips are warm.

”I’m so angry at you,” Lucas tells him because he is, he should be, will be later, but right now he’s also something else. Eliott's ears are just slightly red, and the tip of his nose as well. His lips are red, too, but that’s from kissing. That’s because they kissed. It happened. ”But I understand, I think. Love is scary.”

”Yeah,” Eliott says, and then, in an attempt at lightening the mood, or maybe out of genuine concern, ”Does this mean you’re not going to punch me?”

”I haven’t decided yet.”

”Okay,” he says, low, tender like a bruise, then adds, ”That’s alright.”

And see — Eliott loves him. Lucas thought he knew what it was like to love someone, before. His parents, all his friends, Yann and Mika and Lisa and Manon, and then Eliott, too. But maybe he was a little bit wrong. He was wrong about many things, apparently.

Eliott’s still cupping Lucas’s face in his palms. His hands are shaking a little, either from the nerves or from the cold. Lucas covers Eliott’s hands with his own, because that is, apparently, something he can do, now.

”Just for the record,” he says, then, because it feels important that Eliott knows, ”nothing is wrong with you. Okay? There is nothing wrong with you, Eliott.” And then, he smiles just a little, hoping it looks like an encouragement. ”And if there’s anything wrong with you, then there must be something wrong with me as well. We are both a mess, me and you.” He catches Eliott’s gaze. ”Alright?"

And Eliott looks at him, open and vulnerable and so, so stupid, silly and kind and everything in between, and turns his head, kisses the inside of Lucas’s palm, presses his smile into Lucas’s skin, and says, ”Alright.”

*

A throwback to a different time and a different place: Lucas’s heart is in his throat and he keeps thinking, _love is terrifying_. He keeps staring at his own hands. He feels young and silly, just a little damaged, a little out of place and frail. He’s in love and keeps thinking,_ I made a mistake. What if I made a mistake? _

Fast forward to now: it was the right universe all along.

It’s all okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/joana789)


End file.
